


Satinalia

by thewightknight



Series: A Ben-Hassrath, a Tal-Vashoth and a Tevinter mage walk into a bedroom [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BSDM, M/M, Multi, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the feast of Satinalia, and Dorian surprises Evrion and Bull with his gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satinalia

**Author's Note:**

> From the Dragon Age Wiki:  
>  _Throughout Thedas, the great holiday of Satinalia is marked by sumptuous feasts, wild celebration, and naming the town fool as ruler for a day. Amid the feasting, it is customary for friends, lovers, and traveling companions to exchange gifts and pranks._
> 
> Absolutely no plot here.

It was normal for Skyhold to be a bustle of frantic activity, but today it wasn’t for the usual reasons. It was Satinalia. The pranking had begun at dawn, the feasting had begun at noon, and the drinking was still going on. Evrion had reconfirmed that yes, he still hated fish, and had also avoided most of the pranks aimed at him, although Sera had managed to drop something in his tankard at one point. Luckily he’d looked down before drinking, and had swapped his tankard with Cullen’s when the other looked away for a minute. The commander’s lips and teeth were still blue the last time he’d seen him.

Dorian had been shooting him meaningful looks for the past hour, and he’d been trying to excuse himself, but there always seemed to be one more person who wanted a word. Finally losing patience, he interrupted Baron Desjardins in the middle of a sentence, waving his tankard and claiming a pressing need to visit the jakes. If there were any ruffled feathers, Josephine could smooth them over tomorrow. He caught Dorian’s eye and the mage was by his side in an instant

They managed to make it back to their quarters with no interruptions, which was the best gift he’d received that day. As soon he closed the door, Dorian was in his arms, pulling him down for a deep kiss. He responded, leaning in, letting his hands wander. After a few minutes, though, Dorian drew back, placing fingers on his lips when he tried to protest. 

“Before we get too distracted, I still have to give you your gift.” Evrion had given Dorian his gift first thing upon waking that morning, a beautifully illuminated copy of Oratius’ _Chant for the Dreamers_. He’d been holding onto it for weeks, and it had taken a great effort to not give it earlier. Dorian didn’t share his impatience, seemingly, and had told him his gift could wait until that evening.

“Sit.” Dorian pointed to the bed. Evrion settled onto the mattress, leaning back on his elbows, enjoying the view as Dorian bent to rummage around in one of his trunks. He unearthed a cloth-wrapped rectangle. 

Dorian had gotten him a book too, from the shape of the package. Yes, it was a book, he found as he removed the cloth. It was old, bound in leather that was cracking with age. The corners were rounded and the binding was barely holding together at the spine. He traced the stamped lettering on the cover with his finger, reading the title out loud. “ _The Bonds of Love_ , by Amado Caro. I’ve never heard of it. What’s it…” His words dried up along with his throat as he opened it to a random page and saw the meticulous drawings. 

“I thought you’d like this. I don’t think there’s a foot of land anywhere in Thedas where it isn’t banned. There aren’t that many copies left, but when there’s a huge network of spies and thieves at your disposal, there’s a way.”

“You …” he lost his train of thought for a second when he turned another page. “You had Leliana track this down? Did she know what it was? And how did you … no, wait, I don’t think I want to know.”

“Well, we do need to keep our Inquisitor happy to keep things rolling along smoothly now, don’t we? And it was actually Varric who found it.” Wicked couldn’t begin to describe Dorian’s grin. He turned to a page that had been bookmarked with a strip of silk. “I thought we might try this one first. What do you say?”

He managed to make his voice work. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Clothes … off … now.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss, then Dorian slid off the bed and went rummaging around in the trunk again. He started working on the hooks for his tunic, cursing them as usual. He was going to start insisting on clothing that was easier to get in and out of, he really was. He’d only gotten halfway down his chest when Dorian returned, hands full of rope, and pre-empted the clothing removal. Quick work was made of the remaining hooks, and he was bare-chested in quick order, despite stealing additional kisses during the process. He started on the lacing of his trousers, but Dorian stayed his hands. 

“Later. Arms out,” he was ordered, and complied happily. Dorian sat in front of him, book in his lap, and started wrapping his forearm in an intricate pattern of knots and loops. He hadn’t noticed at first, but Dorian had also laid out a length of wood, drilled through in several places along the length, and a piece of black silk. His breathing was starting to become a bit unsteady as Dorian progressed, finishing one arm and weaving the rope through and around the piece of wood before starting on the other. When he was finished, rope ran from his wrists to halfway up each forearm, the wood separating his arms, keeping his hands apart. He tested and his fingers couldn’t touch each other. They could barely brush the loop Dorian had tied into the rope in the middle of the wood brace. 

“It’s good? Not too tight?”

“It’s good.” His voice was husky in his ears.

“Marvelous. Now for the fun part.” Dorian picked up the silk, a long strip, Evrion noticed for the first time. “Close your eyes.” 

The silk was cool against his skin. Dorian wrapped it around his head once, twice, and tied it at the base of his skull. He felt fingers against his face, smoothing the fabric across his forehead, followed by lips. The bed creaked as Dorian slid down, and he felt a tug at his wrists. He was coaxed and guided until his back was pressed against one of the bedposts. Unseen hands raised his arms up above his head, and then he heard the bed creak behind him. There was a soft thud and something fell across his raised arms, brushing his face (more rope?), and he started in surprise. 

“Sorry about that. Hold still now.” He felt tugging at this wrists, gentle at first, then harder and his arms were pulled up even higher and he found himself rising up onto the balls of his feet. The bed creaked again and he felt a hand trace lightly across his ribs. “There now. That is beautiful. You are beautiful.”

Dorian then proceeded to torment him. There was no other word for it. Lips and hands traveled all over his body, but avoided any truly sensitive area. He spent countless minutes tracing fingers along and just under the waistband of his trousers before slowly sliding them off, hands ghosting over his hips. His tongue made circles along his chest, slowly decreasing, nearing and then drawing away before actually reaching a nipple. His lips kissed downward along ribs, across his stomach, then Dorian veered off and fastened his mouth on a hipbone, sucking and nipping lightly. Finally he felt hands at the lacings of his trousers. He groaned with relief as Dorian slid them down, lifting first one foot, then the other, to draw them off, then rising back up, bestowing gentle caresses and teasing kisses along the insides of his calves and thighs, then moving away again just as his hair brushed Evrion's shaft.

He was close enough that Evrion could feel the heat radiating from his body, but Dorian always kept just enough space between them, never actually touching except with fingertips and mouth. His calves were starting to tremble with from strain, stretched and almost standing on his tiptoes as he was, and the rest of him was trembling with need, despite (or was it because of) Dorian’s teasing. Fingers feathered their way along his sides, up the undersides of his arms, almost tickling, traced their way back down his chest, stopping just below his navel, then were gone. “I have to fetch something. Don’t go anywhere.”

It took the sound of footsteps on the stairs for it to register that Dorian was actually leaving. Leaving the room, leaving him tied against the bedpost, rock hard and shivering with need. He called out, and heard a faint chuckle just as the door opened and closed. 

The tingling Dorian’s hands had caused started to fade, and his calves were twitching. He twisted, trying for some give in the rope, but he’d been tied too securely. He grunted with frustration, and tried to calm his breathing. Minutes passed, and he had a sudden picture of someone coming to look for him and finding him, naked and bound. He could feel a blush travel up his body. He spent a few minutes trying to reach the rope from which he was hanging, but he could only scrabble at it with his fingertips, and so he gave up, hanging from his wrists for a time to ease his legs. He had no way to judge the passage of time, but it seemed like eons before he heard the door open again, and voices in the stairwell. 

“If I trip and fall, Vint…” Bull sounded exasperated, but in an amused way.

“Trust me, Bull. Keep your eyes closed.”

Evrion’s breath hitched, and a sudden surge of desire took his attention away from the strain in his body.

The banter continued as footsteps approached, then paused.

“Okay, open your eyes now.”

Bull’s breath whooshed out, sounding as if he’d been punched in the gut. Then he whistled, low and long. “Oh, Dorian.”

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” 

Hands gripped his wrist, driving the rope into his skin, and he moaned, and his lips were crushed in a kiss and the feel of leather and rough cloth against his skin was maddening. Bull chuckled as he drew back. “I’d’ve said hot, but beautiful works too. How did you learn to do this?”

“Come see.”

He heard them settle on the bed behind him, and Bull grunted again. “Is that what I think it is? Where on earth….” His voice trailed off and there was the sound of pages turning, then a surprised sound from Dorian, followed by a moan. “I think I’m actually starting to like this holiday,” Bull growled shortly thereafter.

“Oh, this isn’t your gift. This is his. Wait here.” He heard Dorian move across the room, heard the lid of a trunk creak open, and then Bull grunted again, and moved from the bed as well.

There was a swish and a crack behind him, and then another, nearer, and then something hit the bedframe next to him, and he twitched in surprise. 

“Do you know what that is, my dear?” Dorian’s voice was suddenly close. “That is the sound of a brand new riding crop. Would you like Bull to test it out on you?”

His throat went dry, and he felt his shaft surge. Two chuckles blended together.

“That looks like yes,” Bull drawled. The tip of the crop trailed up the top of his thigh, slapped lightly across his ribs. “We’ll take it easy, though.” The crop touched him in random places, sometimes caressing, sometimes a stinging smack, with no rhythm or pattern. After an ageless time, there were hands on his wrists again, and he was turned, facing the bedpost. The crop started its tease again, back, buttocks, legs. 

The touches stopped after a time, although it took him a bit to notice. A heavy thud brought him back to himself. That would be Bull’s harness hitting the floor, he thought. Then the whisper of cloth. Trousers. Then the feel of skin on skin, hands gripping his hips as bodies ground together, lips on the back of his neck, teeth nipping along his shoulders.

“Need some of this?” Dorian’s voice was right next to his ear, and the smell of oil hit his nose. 

There was a pause, then slick fingers traced across the small of his back, massaging, working their way lower. Bull teased, running his fingers up and down his cleft, lightly, then spreading his legs, massaging his sac and rubbing the base of his shaft. His legs were parted, and a finger ghosted over his hole. He moaned, and Bull chuckled as he stroked and massaged with one hand, another gripping his shoulder, holding him in place. Another hand caressed his cheek, smaller, softer, turning his head, and then there were lips on his and Dorian ran his tongue across his lips, working into his mouth and just as their tongues met Bull shoved into him with a finger, then two, hard, rough, so wonderfully rough, working in and out as Dorian continued to kiss him.

“You still have your clothes on, Dorian.” Bull’s voice was husky, low, and his breath tickled at the base of his neck and Evrion writhed, grinding into the bedpost, whimpering as fingers were withdrawn, leaving him empty, needy.

“Oh? Really? I hadn’t noticed. Would you like to do something about that?” 

“Should I tell him what I’d like, Boss?” Bull pushed into him, slowly, ever so slowly, hands digging into his hips. Evrion couldn’t form words, could only nod. “I’d like for Dorian to lay on the bed in front of us and strip for me. And however fast or slow he strips, that’s how fast or slow I’m going to fuck you.” Evrion groaned, both with Bull’s movements and with the sure thought that Dorian would strip as slowly as humanly possible. 

He was right, too, as Bull took an age to bury himself, and another to draw back out. After only a few strokes he was crying out in frustration, unable to even writhe with Bull’s iron grip on his hips. It was a shock when suddenly Bull picked up the pace, slamming into him, lifting him up with the force of it, and he started to crest, but Bull slowed again, actually almost completely withdrawing and coming to a stop. This went on, slow and fast, with no pattern or rhythm, leaving him gasping and begging, tears soaking into his blindfold. 

He could hear Bull’s breathing growing increasingly ragged in his ear, tried pushing back into his strokes, and Bull growled, then slammed into him again hard, once twice and came and Evrion cried out with frustration because it was too fast, too sudden, and he was still hard, release denied, and he couldn’t move with Bull crushing him against the bedpost, and he cried out again as Bull withdrew completely and stepped back and warmth spilled down his leg.

“Need some help with that?” Bull said, but not to him, he realized, as he heard the bed creak again, and then the noises started, Dorian’s moans mingling with wet sucking noises, and not being able to see didn’t stop him from picturing Bull’s mouth closing around Dorian’s shaft, or Dorian grasping the bedclothes and arching up while Bull’s fingers penetrated him and if he thought they’d been tormenting him earlier he’d been a fool. Dorian started swearing in Tevene, voice breaking in mid syllable, and Bull chuckled, deep and low and long, and then Dorian was crying out and the bed shook and there was silence, broken only by ragged breathing.

“Festis bei umo canavarum, amatus,” and yes, Dorian sounded completely wrecked, voice hoarse and gasping, and he knew how Dorian would look right now, hair in marvelous disarray, flushed, boneless, eyes almost closed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. There was a gasp, and Bull’s voice, amused. “I’m not done with you yet, little mage,” and the noises started again, and this time Bull described everything he was doing in filthy detail, punctuated by Dorian’s moans, and he trembled and sobbed, hanging from his wrists, white hot with need and frustration. After an age Dorian climaxed again, and the room was quiet except for a chorus of ragged breathing. 

The bed creaked, linens rustled, and then there were hands at his wrists again and he was turned, facing outwards, back pressed against the bedpost and Bull lifted him up, hands crushing the back of his thighs and he was still open and slick and this time Bull didn’t tease him, started pounding into him as soon as he entered, gripping his legs, holding him up and his body, denied release for so, long exploded after only a few thrusts. 

Bull wasn’t done with him either, though, thrusting relentlessly, whispering hoarsely in his hear, a combination of endearments and swearing, switching between Thedan and Qunlat, and he realized that Bull had lifted him high enough that the rope from which he was hanging was brushing against his fingertips and he grabbed it without thinking and now finally he had leverage, pulling up on the rope and slamming down, flexing into Bull’s thrusts, and Bull, normally so in control, was panting, breath ragged, voice cracking, and he came again, a white hot explosion that traveled from the tips of his toes to the base of his skull and Bull cried out with him, making two more ragged thrusts and then collapsing against him, crushing him into the wood behind him. 

After a few minutes, hands pried his fingers from the rope, and with a few tugs his arms dropped unexpectedly. He accidentally elbowed Bull on the top of the head, raising a chuckle. Bull staggered a few paces, dropping them to the bed together, and rolled over to lay beside him. There was tugging at his wrists again, and he raised them over his head, and his skin tingled as Dorian loosened the ropes. There was a kiss on his forehead, and then his head was raised and the blindfold loosened, and he opened his eyes to see Dorian leaning over him, and his hair was as gloriously disheveled as he’d imagined. 

“You two are going to have to get yourselves the rest of the way into bed,” he prompted. They both groaned, but managed to drag themselves upwards, and when they were settled, lying on their backs next to each other, Dorian crawled up in between them, dragging a coverlet up over all three of them. “Good?” he asked as he snuggled in.

“Can’t decide if that was a prank or a gift,” Evrion murmured, already almost asleep. 

“You can never tell with the good ones,” Bull replied, sounding barely awake himself.

“Happy Satinalia, my dears,” Dorian replied, and that was the last Evrion knew until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Festis bei umo canavarum means "You will be the death of me” and amatus is a term of affection.
> 
> I finished this today while flying out to a conference for work. Does writing smut on a plane qualify you for honorary membership in the mile high club?
> 
> [Here's Evrion](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/tagged/evrion).
> 
> Feel free to come say hi over on [tumblr](http://thewightknight.tumblr.com/).


End file.
